Eighty Sentences Of Ichigo And Hichigo
by KandiCorpse
Summary: Eighty sentences.For me for ideas. You can use them too.Yaoi.OOC.Crossdressing.Drinking.OUT.OF.CHARACTER.SERIOUSLY.


Eighty Sentences Of Hichigo and Ichigo

Title says It all.

Couple is Hichigo and Ichigo.

Eighty random sentences for the couple.

Can you guess whose point of view it is?

Cross Dressing

Cutting

Drugs

Alcohol

Ultimate OOC

Fluff.

Some yaoi content

Some romanticide(romantic suicide)

Meh.

His hair brushed my lips softly as he lay against me, and we continued this soft cuddle under his sheets, skin brushing.

Out of everyone, I still can't believe he walked up to me and said Hello.

I couldn't stand saying goodbye, his sobs made it just too hard to leave.

The razor lay limp in his hand as we shared our last blood coated kiss, ready to enter the after life…together.

I couldn't help the sick pleasure I felt every time he looked up at me with that utterly innocent look, begging me to touch him again and again.

I remember, first seeing him…in the corner of the room and his hair was the most vibrant thing ever, and it seemed to accent that chocolate brown stare.

Every day, no matter how bad he felt we always went to the same park, and sat on the same swing set, and shared that same sweet kiss.

I didn't care if he wasn't the jock in school, he would always have my heart, the boy next door.

The boy just never gave up, questioning how I could act so sad even when doing my favorite things.

Every night, that beautiful laugh he had never tired on me, I couldn't help but do anything to hear it again and again.

He would never admit the truth, but he only asked to go to the gay bar for an excuse to grind against me and wear that naughty plaid skirt.

I never could bare the blank look he threw at me when we fought, and I couldn't stop my fingers from brushing the tears away from his eyes, cleaning the blood from the cuts he inflicted on himself in especially bad arguments.

Every night I got drunk he'd ask me what for, and I'd look up at him and sadly reply that I did it to remind myself who I really am inside.

No matter how harsh the day was, he would always say he couldn't wait to face the world tomorrow.

They all looked at him like he was a fucking sex doll, and I felt proud as they glared at me as I put a protective arm around his shoulders.

Sometimes at night, I would hold him and let him spill his heart to me…and always he said he'd sacrifice himself surely if only to know I'd be eternally happy.

Despite my effort, I was always quiet the pervert and he would just roll his eyes and tell me 'boys like you are a dime a dozen.'

I couldn't help shiver at the eerie music he listened to sometimes, but I often enjoyed his dominating sexual acts as they played.

As the sun would set, and we'd sit there on that little hill I would always play the guitar, singing him the sweetest songs I ever could.

I still recall what a little skank he was, always playing hard to get at the bar, those big black boots making him all that much more desirable.

No matter how harsh a fight we ever had, he always said 'Just shut up and hold me. I love you.'

Summer was especially fun, turning the sprinkler on in the backyard and making memories, his beautiful brown eyes shining in the sun light.

No matter where he went, I always found myself fallowing along to catch him when he fell.

We both knew it was bad when he got stoned, because the arguments made him more violent in the bed.

So many times he said 'It ends now.' Crying his heart out, but over and over he would call me and beg me to come back.

His friends were a pain in the ass, and sometimes I wondered if it was really worth it, but just looking at his smiling face was reassuring enough.

I found it a mixture of calming and girly every time he would play Tori Amos, and I'd always joke if he wasn't a boy he'd be the perfect lesbian, which he would only giggle and nod to in agreement.

In this waste land, he always said I was the one thing that set him apart from the scum.

I still remember the Homecoming, watching him walk up to me and shyly ask me to be his 'homecoming king' which I had solemnly accepted.

He would sit there in his boxers across from me and fall to pieces, tears steaming down his face as he threw himself into my loving arms and tried to hide himself.

I could never let him go, no matter what I did.

I still remember all the gasps of all the students when he made that new design of himself, walking in wearing that skirt and rainbow shirt…

In my arms I remember, it was only sixth grade but I had promised he'd never be scared and lonely again.

Every time I saw that look in his eyes, I just told him to break down and give it all to me.

Staying up all night, we were only sixteen and always ran away to the sand dunes singing that same old song, Ocean Avenue.

Broke down and sobbing on the floor, I couldn't believe all the blood he'd caused himself to lose, for god's sake we were only freshmen then.

With a few fights we'd had I'd gone off and slept with some random whore to relieve stress, and every time I broke down and confessed to him and to my surprise he always forgave me.

He never explained to me, but he always seemed to be his happiest when he got to run around in the rain.

We were little when he promised me, but when we were only fucking eleven he grabbed me by the hand and walked me home, saying we'd run away and be happy when we grow up.

He knew, I knew, the look in his eyes told me he knew where I'd been that night.

With his odd taste in slutty Victorian styled clothing, I always complimented that he reminded me of something out of the Lady Marmalade video.

He'd always say I only hear what I want to, but I'd chuckle and jokingly say 'Sorry I wasn't paying attention'.

When he turned eighteen we had a swinger styled party, and he dazzled me with that beautiful silk red pinstripe pants and that tight black button up top, his confidence shining as bright as the cherry of my cigarette.

He would always talk to the mirror, choking back tears and saying he could take the homophobic hatred.

I never understood the depth of scars until he showed me one fading scar he had of an 'H' , he told me it had been there since seventh fucking grade.

Out in the alley behind his house when we were younger, I remember kissing his sweet lips late in the night when he snuck out to see me.

I always said I wanted to be beautiful and perfect like him, and he'd reply perfection isn't a creep covered in scars with a smirk.

God at times I felt so happy he was so much like a woman, those belly dancing lessons really made my night at times, just watching his hips move with his upper figure perfectly.

It came as a surprise at first, but I grew to love and desire to see that black thong that teasingly showed above his bondage pants when he walked, making his ass all that more irresistible.

Remembering your first kiss is rare to long term couples, but I remember it under that full moon we were only twelve then…and that's when his dad decided I was bad news.

I swear to god, that boys ass made it impossible to not stare at as he danced in his circle of his friends, all my friends telling me what a lucky bastard was to have that.

When he walked away that day in ninth grade slowly crying, I couldn't stop my hand from grabbing his arm and spinning him around into a deep reassuring kiss that I would come back soon.

We were only fourteen then, running down the sidewalks smiling and laughing, unable to wait to be old enough to drive away from the retched place.

He always would steal the cigarette from my lips, taking a drag and telling me how he wanted to just jump into the deep blue ocean off that bridge.

No matter where he was, I always had a smile because it was just so fun to watch him scamper around singing and dancing with that never ending utterly happy smile.

His voice was angelic as he sang out his heart at every basement concert, eyes shimmering on the stage almost as bright as his smile.

I still remember first seeing him there at school, the strange little boy being pushed around for what he was.

As most of the gay boys in the world would not like to be called faggot, he couldn't get enough of being called that, even taking it as a compliment.

Those tight jeans, that tight halter top, and the perfect gloss on those perfect lips to match that pink and black checkered hat made him all the more irresistible to me.

It was always hard to hang out with my boy and my friends at once, because every time I wasn't looking everyone was trying to cop a feel on him.

I thought he'd forgotten me long ago, but after two years when I came back in eleventh grade he grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me so hard in front of the entire school.

When I'd moan that he was an addiction, he told me he was the perfect drug, then with the chuckle he'd always add on 'or you really think I give good blow jobs.'

He was the kind of boy I always wanted to marry, and I couldn't wait till I could.

Threw his first few years of Junior High and High school that boy was untouchable to anyone but me.

If there was one thing he loved to sing, it was the fastest songs he could find because moving his lips fast was…one of his specialties.

How we were reunited at the age of nineteen was pretty funny. He was drunk off his ass at Warped Tour and jumped off the stage, and just happened to land on me.

When we were fourteen I realized why his dad hated me, maybe it was the fact he could hear his son moaning my name since we were twelve, or maybe it was because I was a bad influence?

At times by the way he looked, you'd never know it but that boy was the loudest boy when he was getting laid, and he was excellent at dirty talk.

I felt bad for him at times, because that boy couldn't hold his liquors to save his life.

It was funny to see, but when he got tipsy he seemed to lose all his class and turn into a horny little slut, not that I ever complained.

I often admired how in your face he was with the teachers, telling them off when ever they gave him shit about anything.

The funniest thing ever in my opinion was when his dad walked in while we were…you know…and he pointed at his father and asked if he would close the door if he was so obligated to watch.

Summer was the hardest time to get out of my house, until night that is when my mom went to work at that fucking topless bar or some shit, that's when I got out to see him.

It was the worse when we locked ourselves in his closet and lost the key, only to be found by his dad hours later, and I wish he would have come about five minutes later because seeing his kid on his knees in front of me was probably not something he wanted to see.

It didn't matter how hard I tried, but fighting my feels just wasn't an option when it came to me and him.

His dad should have never had that Halloween party, it only lead up to me and him in his room, and I couldn't help but get that nurse costume off his body, and his dad did not enjoy kicking me out the next morning.

It was one thing he loved, my eyes and he always said he'd never find eyes quiet like mine anywhere in the world.

We acted as if we were kings, drinking pennyroyal tea and sitting on the top of his house singing songs every night for a year.

He got so sick and tired of those homophobic bastards, that I remember him not coming to school for a month.

Being with other boys was so hard for me, seeing his perfectly curved body walk by, his hip huggers grasping his sides low just begging me to take them off him.


End file.
